I apologize, diary, for leaving like empty like this for these past years. The urge to record history is admittedly a bit lacking when one is, if I let myself say this, in the process of making it. When Allende was elected I moved to Santiago, not because of politics, but to find work. And yet when the employers strike came my work became political. That I wanted to keep things running as they were, strangely enough, meant I wanted a revolution against things as they were. That I wanted to keep working, to keep selling myself for a wage, made me a Marxist, though it was not until I had read Marx that I saw the humor in this.
During the strike we took over our factory and kept it producing. We, mostly women, many who had never been political or had been Christian Democrats, expropriated our workplace to keep it running, and because before, anyway, the boss had been selling blue jeans on the black market. We thought the UP would be with us, that the CUT would defend the working class, but soon instead they talked about trading some factories back, that ones that weren’t important enough. We were little chess pieces for them, something to be moved around on a board, just like they thought the generals were.
I don’t blame Allende, I understand that I don’t understand the position he was in, that he did his best and paid for it dearly. But now that I have to hide, because I knew people in the PS, the PC, the MIR, even ordinary workers and students, all who were taken to the stadiums, well I do wish he had done a bit better.